“Memories, you see, hurt. The good ones most of all.”
“I wish i could tell you that through the tragedy i mined some undiscovered, life-altering absolute that i could pass on to you.I didn't.The cliches apply-people are what count,life is precious,materialism is over rated, and the little things matter,live in the moment-and i can repeat them to you ad nauseam.you might listen, but you won't internalize.Tragedy hammers it hm.Tragedy etches into your soul.You might not be happier.But you will be better.”
“There should have been a dark whisper in the wind. Or maybe a deep chill in the bone. Something. An ethereal song only Elizabeth or I could hear. A tightness in the air. Some textbook premonition. There are misfortunes we almost expect in life—what happened to my parents, for example—and then there are other dark moments, moments of sudden violence that alter everything. There was my life before the tragedy. There is my life now. The two have very little in common.”
“I kept hearing that "better to have loved and lost" bullshit. Another falsehood. Trust me, it is not better. Don't show me paradise and then burn it down”
“Sex is for anyone; the aftermath is for lovers.”
“The sun was now in its death throes, bruising the sky a coiling purple and orange.”
“Well-meaning friends ' often the worst kind ' handed me the usual clich+!s, and so I feel in a pretty good position to warn you: Just offer your deepest condolences. Don't tell me I'm young. Don't tell me it'll get better. Don't tell me she's in a better place. Don't tell me it's part of some divine plan. Don't tell me that I was lucky to have known such a love. Every one of those platitudes pissed me off. They made me ' and this is going to sound uncharitable ' stare at the idiot and wonder why he or she still breathed while my Elizabeth rotted.”
“but when in doubt, you might as well keep an open mind.”
“Todavía oigo aquella sandez del «mejor haber amado y haber perdido». Otra mentira más. Créanme si les digo que no es mejor. Que no me enseñen el paraíso para cerrarlo después.”
“I'd always hated running. Born-again joggers described how they got addicted to the rapture of running, how they achieved a nirvana known as a runner's high. Right. I'd always firmly believed that--much like the high of auto-asphyxiation--the bliss came more from a lack of oxygen to the brain than any sort of endorphin rush.”
“I blinked and the images were gone. But I remembered how the laugh and the howl and the splash would ripple and echo in the stillness of our lake, and I wondered if ripples and echoes like those ever fully die away, if somewhere in the woods my father's joyful yelps still bounced quietly off the trees. Silly thought, but there you go.”
“The pain flooded in again. It was always there, of course. Through the shaking hands and slapping of the backs, the grief stayed by his side, tapping Griffin on the shoulder, whispering in his ear, reminding him that they were partners for life.”
“When I got home, I poured myself one last quick drink. I took a deep sip and let the warm liquor travel to destinations well known. Yes, I drink. But I’m not a drunk. That’s not denial. I know I flirt with being an alcoholic. I also know that flirting with alcoholism is about as safe as flirting with a mobster’s underage daughter. But so far, the flirting hasn’t led to coupling. I’m smart enough to know that might not last. Chloe”
“Children view their parents as both intrepid and omnipotent.”
“Should I take him to Benny’s?” Wu asked. His voice had a slow, odd cadence to it, like a character from a Peanuts cartoon. Larry”
“Do you still think I’m the most exciting, wonderful creature on God’s green earth?” “Oh, yeah,” Linda said. “Me too.” Shauna smiled at her. “I’m a narcissistic pain in the ass.” “Oh, yeah.” “But I’m your narcissistic pain in the ass.” “Damn straight.” Shauna moved closer. “I’m not destined for a life of easy relationships. I’m volatile.” “You’re sexy as hell when you’re volatile,” Linda said.”
“When Carlson and Stone first burst into Rebecca Schayes’s studio, Dimonte had not been happy to see them. There had been the usual local-cops-versus-feds macho-turf posturing. Few things unify the FBI and the local authorities, especially in a big city like New York. But Hester Crimstein was one of those things. Both sides knew that Crimstein was a master obscurer and publicity hound. The world would be watching. No one wanted to screw up. That was the driving force here. So they forged an alliance with all the trust of a Palestinian-Israeli handshake, because in the end, both sides knew that they needed to gather and nail down the evidence fast—before Crimstein mucked up the waters. The”
“Perhaps it had something to do with the case becoming too neat, all the evidence suddenly lining up and cooperating with their theory. Or maybe his doubts were based on something as unreliable as “intuition,” though Carlson had never been a big fan of that particular aspect of investigative work. Intuition was often a way of cutting corners, a nifty technique of replacing hard evidence and facts with something far more elusive and capricious. The worst investigators Carlson knew relied on so-called intuition. He”
“I thought about my mother and wondered what she realized about her mental health, if she was even capable of engaging in serious introspection. Probably”
“Sex is for anyone; the aftermath is for lovers. Pretty”
“If you cross the street to avoid a gang of black teens, you’re racial profiling; if you don’t cross because you’re afraid you’ll look like a racist, you’re racial profiling; if you see the gang and think nothing whatsoever, you’re from some planet I’ve never visited. What”
“What made me pause here was the pure dichotomy.”
“There are some places the mind should not go; it gets steered there anyway.”
“You might argue that I’m nesting myself on an awfully slippery slope. I would agree with you, though I might counter that most of life is lived out there. The problem was, there were repercussions when you lived in the grays—not just theoretical ones that taint your soul, but the brick-and-mortar ones, the unforeseeable destruction that such choices leave behind. I wondered what would have happened if I had told the truth right from the get-go. And it scared the hell out of me.”
“So I moved toward Tyrese. He gave me the ghetto glare. On the street, it fazed me; in here, it was like the big bad wolf blowing at the brick house. “Was your son born at this hospital?” I asked. Tyrese didn’t reply. “Was your son born here, yes or no?” He calmed down enough to say “Yeah.” “Is he circumcised?” Tyrese relit the glare. “You some kind of faggot?” “You mean there’s more than one kind?” I countered. “Was he circumcised here, yes or no?” Grudgingly, Tyrese said, “Yeah.” I”
“Shauna and Linda rent a three-bedroom apartment on Riverside Drive and 116 Street, not far from Columbia University. I’d managed to find a spot within a block, an act that usually accompanies a parting sea or stone tablet. Shauna”
“I stepped out of the car. Mothers and nannies ambled by, pushing complicated baby strollers that fold and shift and rock and play songs and lean back and lean forward and hold more than one kid, plus an assortment of diapers, wipes, Gerber snacks, juice boxes (for the older sibling), change of clothing, bottles, even car first-aid kits. I knew all this from my own practice (being on Medicaid did not preclude one from affording the high-end Peg Perego strollers), and I found this spectacle of bland normalcy cohabiting in the same realm as my recent ordeal to be something of an elixir. I”
“An outsider might claim that this made sense, that Shauna was giving the sister and brother some space during this tender reunion. That outsider wouldn’t know Shauna from Cher. Shauna was wonderfully consistent. She was prickly, demanding, funny, bighearted, and loyal beyond all reason. She never put on masks or pretenses. If your thesaurus had an antonym section and you looked up the phrase “shrinking violet,” her lush image would stare back at you. Shauna lived life in your face. She wouldn’t take a step back if smacked across the mouth with a lead pipe. Something”
“If I did, they’d be irrelevant. You know that. I don’t do well locked in a cage, Beck. I need the stage.” “Nice mix of metaphors,” I said. “At least it rhymed.” I”
“You remember my friend Wendy Petino?” “Fellow model,” I said. “Flaky as a Greek pastry.” Shauna”
“I wasn't enjoying the conversation that much. I didn't want to prolong it. It is the sort of man-to-woman infight that I try whenever possible to ascribe to premenstrual tension. I like the theory, but unfortunately in this case I happened to know that it didn't account for Klara, and of course it leaves unresolved at any time the question of how to account for me.”
“And just as he had earlier, during their lunch hour, insinuated the problem of innocence to the formalists - which had incensed them and boosted their immaturity a hundredfold - he was now making an issue of my modern legs. And there I was, listening and lapping it all up - his linking the calves of my legs with those of the new generation - and coming to feel the cruelty of youth toward old calves! And there was also a kind of leg camaraderie with the schoolgirl, plus a clandestine, voluptuous collusion of legs, plus leg patriotism, plus the impudence of young legs, plus leg poetry, plus young-blooded pride in the calf of the leg, and a cult of the calf of the leg. Oh, what a fiendish body part!”
“You don't know the difference between truth and make-believe. You never stop acting. It's second nature to you. You act when there's a party here. You act to the servants, you act to father, you act to me. To me you act the part of the fond, indulgent, celebrated mother. You don't exist, you're only the innumerable parts you've played. I've often wondered if there was ever a you or if you were never anything more than a vehicle for all these other people that you've pretended to be. When I've seen you go into an empty room I've sometimes wanted to open the door suddenly, but I've been afraid to in case I found nobody there.”
“Raphael, tell him you won’t do anything to him if I get ‘damaged.’ ”
“That would be a lie, Elena. I would tear out his throat.”
“Your life isn't out of control. It's expanded.”
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